The Truth Will Out Book Novels & Stories

Inside was a small USB drive and a stack of documents. I scanned them quickly—bank records, internal transactions, a report linking me to someone I hadn’t worked with in years. My name was stamped clearly on each page. My hands trembled as I reached the last page. It held a single note: “The truth is never far from you.” My chest seized. I picked up my phone and called Johnny. Voicemail. Then Marshall. Voicemail. Then Nathan. Voicemail. I stood, shoved the documents and USB into my bag, shut down my computer, and walked out of the office with long, fast steps.

Wanting to keep the house tidy, I gathered our discarded clothes from the bedroom floor to take them to the laundry bin. As Damian’s suit jacket, something fluttered out of the pocket. It was a small, creased piece of paper. I bent down to pick it up, expecting a dry-cleaning slip. My heart skipped a beat. It was a hotel reservation confirmation from Chicago. I stared at the bold letters. The date matched the last two nights. Our anniversary night. I tried to find an excuse. Maybe the merger was in Chicago? But then I remembered his slip-up in the living room. He had said Chicago, then corrected himself to San Francisco. He had lied to my face, then laughed it off as “brain fry.”

“You think that was about control.” “I think it was about perception,” I replied. “And you didn’t think past the moment.” His jaw tightened. “Explain.” I crossed my arms too, mirroring him without meaning to. “Yes,” I said, voice steady even though my pulse wasn’t. “Not because anyone was standing there with popcorn. Because rumors spread.” His eyes narrowed. “You think it’ll become a story.” “It already has,” I said. “By tomorrow it won’t be ‘a woman tried it.’ It’ll be ‘Damien Lockewood had to step in because Tanya couldn’t handle it.’”

The carpet drank up the blood, spreading the red stain wider and wider. When he was done, he doused the house with gasoline, over the furniture, the walls, Jessica’s mutilated body, and himself. Then the lighter flicked to life, and he hurled it into the colorless liquid. The flames roared skyward, devouring everything in their path like a raging storm. My soul drifted through the searing waves of heat, watching as the past was consumed, leaving nothing behind. Then there was silence. For a long time, the fire kept burning. Then, through the flickering blaze, a single figure emerged.

Had she peeled open their lives layer by layer beforehand? “The truth has a nasty habit of crawling out, no matter how deep you bury it." Amelia let out a quiet, almost mocking chuckle. "You accused me without a shred of proof. But me? I got backed with evidence. I don't invent stories, I expose them. And I kind of tend to spread these juicy stories."

"In any war, truth is the first victim. Can you not see that? Could she not see it?" "Can you deny that Tina Davis was murdered because she was testing lies that reinforced the war struggle recovering than the facts would have done?" "I am saying," the Home Secretary said, "that the disparity between truth and lies is immaterial in time of war. True or false? Right or wrong? These questions are inconsequential now. It's all down to allegiance. Are you with us or against us? Surely you of can see that." "And anyone who isn't with you?" "-- is with the guerrillas and must be removed!" said the Home Secretary.

I explained, he nodded. "I think we need to train them." He said, I just agreed because that was the best way. "By the way, your book was published yesterday. Right? I'm so proud of you wife. I thought my line was Silence or Kiss, the plot and the Epilogue was really amazing." I smiled because of what he said. Yeah, I am a writer. The book I wrote yesterday was just published. No one knows that the story written there is true. Why should I tell the truth, we are dead to the government, aren't we? But ofcourse, I would never let that happen.

Fuck. She looked like fire and elegance wrapped in gold. Her dress caught the light with every movement, fluid and commanding. Her hair was pulled back, but a few strands had broken free, curling around her face like they had minds of their own. Her heels clicked against the polished floor, unapologetic and sure. The room went quiet. And then she began. “I didn’t write this book to tell a love story,” she said, voice steady, sure. “Not the kind that ends in roses and rainbows. I wrote it to tell the truth—about trauma, about betrayal, about choosing someone even after the damage.”

He took a life, a legacy, everything your brother was meant to inherit. She read the word brother and had to stop. She read it again. She kept reading. *This is all I could save as proof. The USB contains records, emails, and a partial will that names you. You're also a Rhodes, kept hidden by me for your safety.* *Find the truth. But please, Liora, tread carefully. Damien Hawthorne is dangerous and doesn't tolerate loose ends.* *I'm sorry I couldn't give you more.* *All my love, always — Mom*

Thinking. Then I let out a slow breath. “Not clean,” I muttered. I hadn't gotten the full answer I needed but it was enough. Enough to know that something inside that house wasn’t right. Enough to know that the truth was being handled… just like that page. Repeatedly. Carefully. Hidden in plain sight. My fingers brushed against the front cover of the book. Half the truth was all I had for now. But it was more than I had yesterday. And it was enough to let me take the next step.